


Christmas, Deferred

by socks_of_yore



Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: And misteltoe, Angst, Especially non-Western magic, F/F, F/M, Handwavy approach to magic, No death whatsoever even their Christmas tree lives, Questionable Wikipedia research, but with a fluffy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 09:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17159261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/socks_of_yore/pseuds/socks_of_yore
Summary: It’s December 28th, and Harry’s been stuck in a demonic supermax prison for three days. From what they’ve learned from Wikipedia and Charity’s now-frequent visits, it’s not the type of jail that has visiting hours.Naturally, no one has slept in the Vera-Vaughn household for seventy-two hours.***********A Mel-centric, angsty romp through the end of 1x09 to what, I hope, will be Harry's return in 1x10.





	Christmas, Deferred

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission to the Charmed Secret Santa on Tumblr and, coincidentally, the first 'fic that I've ever finished. T_T"
> 
> For @mute90 who requested Mel-Marisol and hero worship, Mel/Jada and magic, the sisters and Santa. Shout out @charmedbrujas for bringing us all together!

Family. Mel thought that she knew what that word meant, but these days she’s not so sure. There was once a time when she could open wide and hold all that that word meant in the span of her arms. Family meant mom and Maggie, and now it means Macy and Harry too.

 

But she’s starting to think that it might mean more.

 

A purple portal opens up in their kitchen, interrupting her thoughts and the Sleepytime tea that she’s brewing as a peace offering for Maggie. Maggie’s finally gone upstairs to change into pajamas and sleep.

 

“Charity.”

 

Macy perks up from her seat at the dinner table.

  
“Macy, Mel,” she says by way of greeting.

  
It’s December 28th, and Harry’s been stuck in a demonic supermax prison for three days. From what they’ve learned from Wikipedia and Charity’s now-frequent visits, it’s not the type of jail that has visiting hours.

  
Naturally, no one has slept in the Vera-Vaughn household for seventy-two hours.

  
“Have you learned anything new?” Macy asks hopefully. She’s trying to keep her hands still, but Mel can see the way that they start to shake when Macy shoves them in her trouser pockets.

  
Mel steps closer to her sister and links their arms together.

  
The Book of Shadows is open on their dinner table, and Charity takes the seat that Macy’s just vacated. She flips through the Book, again, with a forced calm. The tips of her fingers turn its pages, but Mel can see that her eyes are fixed, unmoving. She’s not reading the Book because she’s already memorized its contents. The Elders scanned it for weeks after they discovered Marisol’s unsanctioned exorcism spell. If there was a get-Harry-out-of-demon-jail spell they would have found it already.

  
She’s just biding time.

  
“Charity?” Macy prompts her.

  
“What is it?” Mel asks.

  
Charity stops flipping as she reaches the back of the Book. Her hands hover over its blank pages, as if she cannot bring herself to touch them.

  
“What aren’t you telling us?”

  
“I met with the Elders this morning, girls,” she says, finally. “And I’m sorry, but they’re calling it. We have to move on.”

  
“That’s ridiculous,” Macy blurts out.

  
“You can’t be okay with giving Harry up and letting him rot,” Mel adds. “We haven’t even tried anything yet. All we’ve been doing for three days is talk and talk –"

  
“Girls …”

  
Mel takes a step, but Macy’s hands wrap around her elbows to prevent her from advancing. Her hands are gentle, but firm.

  
“You care about him just as much as we do,” Mel argued. “You guys have a past. You have to care.”

  
“Of course, I do,” Charity snapped. “I do, but Harry would have cast the same vote I did. We have to move on, as difficult as it may be, for the greater good.” Her words sound like something Charity would say, but her voice stilted. Forced.

  
“That’s bullshit.”

  
Mel turns, surprised. The same surprise is echoed in her sister’s face. Macy actually respects authority, is calm under pressure; she’s nothing if not tactful. She’s everything Mel is not.

  
“That’s uncalled for, Macy.”

  
Macy’s eyes widen momentarily, but her surprise passes the way a bird’s shadow does when it’s flown too high and, briefly, blots out the sun. Her face settles quickly in resolve. It reminds Mel of the way Marisol’s often did in faculty meetings, squaring off against tenured faculty with no incentive to change.

  
“I’m not going to apologize for my language or the frustration behind it. We all feel it,” Macy says, gesturing between her and Mel and between them and Maggie, asleep, upstairs.

  
“And even if you’re giving up, Charity, you have to know at least something that can help us.”

  
“I don’t. And I’m sorry, but the Council will be assigning your new Whitelighter to you tomorrow morning. I suggest you girls take the day to cool off and start fresh tomorrow.”

  
“But we don’t want a new Whitelighter,” Mel says. “We want Harry back.”

  
Macy nods.

  
Platform boots storm the stairs, and a wild Maggie appears. She hasn’t slept after all. “Me three!”

  
She doesn’t quite meet Mel’s eyes as she races over to their impromptu meeting, but she does slip her arm through Macy’s.

  
Charity sizes them up, and what she reads Mel can only guess. Who are the Charmed Ones, at the end of the day, really? Are they like witch royalty? Does it matter?

  
They’re family. They fight for each other.

  
“As an Elder, I can’t officially help you should you continue to pursue this.”

  
“Then give us a couple of days,” Mel says, seeing their opening. “Before you stick us with a new nanny.”

  
“I’ll see what I can do.”

  
Charity portals away, leaving them with three cold cups of Sleepytime tea.

  
***

  
“She’s clearly not telling us everything.”

  
“I know.”

  
“I wish mom was here.”

  
***

  
The next day comes, but neither Charity nor their new Whitelighter appears. Mel breathes a small sigh of relief. She cannot do what she’s about to do with someone new breathing down her neck. The three of them agreed to act fast before the Elders notice.

  
To that end, Macy’s gone back to work and Maggie’s hitched a ride to school. They all think it would be better somehow if Mel was alone when she makes the call. Mel wanders through the house, trying to find the right words, the right questions to ask.

  
In the end, Jada’s still the only link to Marisol that might help.

  
In the end, Jada’s the only one they know that’s actually helped to write a spell in the Book of Shadows.

  
In the end, Mel braces herself and calls out her name.

  
Jada immediately orbs into their living room, impressed.

  
“You three moved fast on this one, Vera. We didn’t expect that.”

  
“How do you know what happened?”

  
Jada takes in their living room, maybe noting what’s changed since she was there. Mel’s pretty sure this isn’t her first visit.

  
“You can’t open the door to Tartarus without the Underworld knowing. Its energy is too dark, too strong. We all felt it.”

  
“And Harry?”

  
Jada cocks a grin. “That was word of mouth. Demon gossip is better than TMZ. The rumor was that two souls were sent down, and as the three of you and that half demon are still moping around in Hilltown we only had to guess.”

  
Mel nods, relieved that she doesn’t have to explain what she needs. What they need. “So can you help us?”

  
“You should really ask yourself why your precious Elders wouldn’t know a way of opening Tartarus,” Jada says. “They’ve done it before.”

  
“They had the key before.”

  
“As you had,” Jada points out.

  
Heat creeps up Mel’s neck.

  
“Your Elders have misunderstood the problem entirely, which is pretty typical.” With that, Jada plops down on the coffee table. For some reason, it bothers Mel more than when she was pacing around their living room.

 

“The problem?”

  
Jada nods. “The problem isn’t finding a way to open a door to Tartarus – it’s finding a way to survive it.”

  
“What do you mean?”

  
“Tartarus isn’t just Hell, it’s a special part of it.”

  
Mel waved her off. “Zeus banished the Titans there. It’s a primordial entity, like the Earth. Yeah, we know. Maggie Googled it.”

  
Jada rolled her eyes. “That’s only the beginning, and it’s only that simple if your only legends are Greek.”

  
“What’s the rest of it?”

  
Jada considers her next words. “There are ways of opening a portal to Tartarus. Hundreds of ways, each devised by a particular culture looking to get rid of its undesirables. Muslims call it Jahannam and describe seven gates to seven parts of hell where the wicked are punished. Buddhists call it the Naraka, of which Avīci is reserved for the worse. The Mayans, a place called Xibalba, the worst part of it Mitnal. The Aztec, Mictlan. They all have their doors, and their ways of accessing those doors. The best ways did not involve immediate incineration.”

  
“The Elders made it sound like there was only one.”

  
Jada scoffs. “Your Elders are pretty narrowminded when it comes to their magic. They think that because ‘Tartarus’ was first recorded in Greek legends, that only a Greek key can open it.”

  
Mel ventures a guess. “I’m assuming that’s not true?”

  
“Not even close.”

  
“And so, what, you have a key to the backdoor? Another key?”

  
Jada grins. “Why need a door when you can find the gatekeeper?”

  
“Gatekeeper?”

  
“A being of two worlds: the light and the dark.”

  
Mel shakes her head. “’A being of two worlds’ – that could be anyone. That could be _you_.”

  
Jada laughs, shoulders hunching forward like she’s bending down to accept a crown. Mel does not notice the dip in her collar bone or the way that even Jada’s shoulders are sarcastic. “Not my gig, but your mother knew her.”

  
“What—”

  
“Your mother carried her, made her – and from what I heard – got a wicked power boost while she carried your sister in her womb. Got mad visions that would last for hours, sometimes days. She saw deeper into the future than she ever had. What she saw scared her.”

  
It feels like a shard of ice has slipped down the back of Mel’s sweater. “Wait, are you talking about Macy?”

  
“We think Macy could be a reincarnation of the Greek Persephone, or the Japanese Izanami. A being with the power to create and destroy. There are about a dozen beings that fit the bill. Any one of them would be able to cut a path through the darkness and open a portal directly to your Whitelighter.”

  
“Might?”

  
“Your mother cloaked her before the Sarcena, or the Elders, could learn more,” Jada explains. Her appreciation is plain as she continues, “She used a magic so ancient that it barely has a name.”  
It’s Mel, now, that starts to pace. If what Jada says is true, then Macy’s worst fears are about to come true. “This doesn’t make any sense. Reincarnation? Gatekeepers? Does that mean Macy is half … darkness?”

  
“We’re pretty sure,” Jada concedes, “but there’s only one way to find out.”

  
“I’ve read the Book of Shadows backward and forward. There’s nothing about opening a door to Tartarus – no key, and no gatekeeper.”

  
“You’ve only read what you can see,” she responds. As if to prove a point, Jada conjures a small current of electricity. She winks as Mel orbits closer. They both move to the kitchen to where the Book is still open to a blank page.

  
“I knew it. So there are more spells hidden in the back of the Book of Shadows.”

  
Jada’s hands hover over the pages, much like Charity’s did. Her look is fond.

  
Mel wants to ask her about Marisol, and this whole other life that her mom lived. A life she didn’t want to share with Mel.

  
Sometimes Mel feels like she’s chasing her mom’s ghost, but sometimes she’s just chasing a stranger’s.

  
Jada pulls away, which makes Mel realize how close – physically – they have gotten.

  
“We’re not stupid, you know.”

  
“What do you mean?”

  
“You’re not the first witch the Sarcana have tried to recruit, and you’re not the first the Elders have sent to spy on the Sisterhood.”

  
Mel blanches. “I didn’t ask you here because the Elders told me to.”

  
“I know,” she replies, “but you’re a horrible liar, Vera. I know why you joined the Sisterhood.”

  
Mel tries summoning a retort, a likely explanation, anything really, but Jada waves them all off with a smirk. She leans in, close enough to whisper in her ear. Close enough that Mel swears that a bit of static electricity has raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

  
“But that’s okay, ‘cause I’ve never had this much fun with a spy before.”

  
The corners of Mel’s lips curl. It’s the reason why Maggie wins at poker night each month (“I don’t need to be a telepath to know when you’ve got something good, Mel”). She can’t lie to save her life, but she will do whatever it takes to save Harry’s. To get answers for Macy.

  
“So how will we be sure? About Macy, I mean."

  
Jada contemplates her next words. She flips to the third (supposedly) blank page and points to the top of the page, where the title of a spell might be. “There’s only one way to know for sure: she has to try and open a portal.”

  
“And how we do that? We don’t even know if she’s Persephone or Iza-whata.”

  
“It would take too much time, and be too dangerous, to just guess which incarnate Macy is and have her try the right spell.”

  
Mel nods. “We have to write our own spell, don’t we? Like the one you wrote with mom. One specifically for Macy.”

  
“One specifically for the three of you,” Jada corrects. “Whatever your sister might have been in a past life, she’s a Charmed One in this life. She will need the two of you to survive the passage.”

  
That, at least, makes sense.

  
***

  
“Do you trust me?”

 

“No, but I want to.”

***

  
It’s March now.

  
Christmas has officially been over for a long time according to the calendar that hangs next to the spice rack, but then again things have always been a little bit different in their house. And that was before Mel and Maggie even knew what a Charmed One was.

 

Mel lingers in the kitchen, resting her head against the refrigerator. Her head is throbbing, and hasn’t stopped throbbing since they got back from Tartarus.

 

In the next room, she can hear Maggie catching Harry up on her classes and how much she actually likes her psych professor this quarter. She can hear Macy setting down Harry’s tea cup, his quiet thanks. Maggie’s playing her Christmas Spotify playlist softly in the background, and Mel’s pretty sure Michael Bublé’s singing about a “White Christmas” just to annoy her.

 

Shania isn’t so bad, though.

 

She can’t see it from the kitchen, but their Christmas tree is still up in the living room. Most of its needles are still there, and they’re mostly green. Mel’s been too afraid to ask, but she’s seen Maggie sneak downstairs more than once to water their tree. There’s no way that magic isn’t involved. But if this qualifies as a selfish use of magic and if there are consequences to keeping their Christmas tree alive long past its natural life span then Mel hasn’t seen it.

 

All of their presents – including Harry’s – are still underneath its boughs, unopened.

 

“They’re waiting for you, Vera.”

 

Behind her, Jada orbs into their kitchen. As Mel turns, she sees that her Sarcana mentor, for lack of a better word, is perched on what’s become her favorite spot on the countertop. Jada has been a frequent visitor over the last three months. It was weird, at first.

 

Jada would come and go, visiting their house most often when Mel was alone or when her sisters were otherwise occupied. She’s never visited when Charity was around. Mel got tired quick of reporting what she had learned from Jada to her sisters, so she starting calling for Jada when the three of them were together.

 

After that first meeting:

 

“She’s kind of like a stray cat, you know,” Maggie said, absentmindedly stirring the sancocho on the stove.

 

She shared a smile with Macy, who was nearby, researching herbs of the Underworld. “Oh yeah?”

 

Mel eyed them both warily.

 

“Oh yeah. Like she kind of wandered in through the front door and made herself at home, but try to pet her and she’ll bite your hand off.”

 

“You tried to _pet_ Jada?” Mel asked, trying valiantly to push aside any and all innuendo in her mind.

  
Maggie guffawed. “Get your head out of the gutter, Mel. When you went upstairs to get the Book of Shadows earlier, I offered her some of the cookies that I was baking before you called a magical meeting and she just, like, gave me a look that said Cookies-are-a-Tool-of-the-Your-Precious-Elders-to-Regulate-Magic.”

 

“She took a cookie before she orbed out, though,” Macy pointed out helpfully.

 

Today, Jada’s plucked an apple out of their fruit bowl and is now making a show of cutting into it with a knife she’s conjured. Maggie decides to focus on that action, rather than noticing how snug Jada’s black sweater is, or her trademark smirk. It’s the I-know-something-you-don’t-know smirk, and Mel’s seen it before.

  
“I know, I’m just …”

 

“Waiting for me?”

 

Mel smiles, but it’s like her muscles are out of practice. It feels too wide, too big, too taut. Jada sees this too, of course. Jada’s gotten too good at reading her.

 

Mel, however, is a slower study.

 

Jada’s smirk melts away. As she takes a thoughtful bite of her apple slice, she says, “Whatever you’re thinking, I’m not going to spoil your reunion with your Whitelighter.”

 

Mel hadn’t noticed that Jada never referred to Harry, or Charity for that matter, by name. Macy did, of course, and pointed it out after that first meeting. Now it’s sometimes all that Mel notices.

 

“Harry,” Mel corrects her. “And I know you’re not.”

 

Jada nods, but doesn’t offer an explanation for why she’s there. She cuts the apple quickly, efficiently, waiting Mel out. And that’s their relationship, for lack of a better phrase, in a nutshell. Jada’s got the upper hand while Mel swings away, trying to make contact or make progress or make something work.

 

It was so different with Niko, which Mel knows isn’t a fair comparison – for herself, or for Jada. Nothing about how it ended with Niko was fair. Still, that underlying hum of desire that springs to life every time Jada paces the room, or uses magic like she’s being doing it forever, is hard for her to deny.

 

Maggie laughs from the living room, and someone’s turned off Michael Bublé. _Thank god_.

 

Mel swings again: “You can join us, you know. You were a part of rescuing Harry too, and he knows that. I think that he’d like to thank you himself.”

 

Jada leans back against a counter with a smile. “I don’t think he would, but then again that doesn’t really matter. I didn’t do it for him.”

 

“Then why did you help us?”

 

Jada leaps fluidly from the counter. Both apple and knife disappear.

 

“You’re my Sister. We are a part of the same Sisterhood.”

 

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Mel says, refusing to flinch and to admire another casual show of magic. Can’t they stop dancing around each other?

 

“Maybe.”

 

“No, not maybe, Jada. You feel it too, I know you do. And yeah, I know that the Saracana sent you to recruit me, but you didn’t have to help us – me – get Harry back. You don’t have to orb to wherever I am whenever I call.”

 

“Maybe I do,” Jada says slowly, carefully. “Have you ever considered that, Mel?”

 

“Then do it because you want to. Because you want to help me. Not because the Saracana tell you to, or you think it’s going to get me to really, _really_ join your Sisterhood.”

 

Jada doesn’t say anything to that, looking away because somehow, somewhere, they’ve stopped reading from the script. And Mel wants --

 

“Mel? Are you still there?” Maggie calls from the living room. “You better hurry if you want to see what Santa brought you”

 

“Three months ago,” Macy adds.

 

“I hope you’re not counting me as one of Santa’s gifts,” Harry mutters.

 

“Get over yourself, Harry,” Maggie says cheerily, loud enough for them all to hear. “And don’t let Jada orb away, Mel! We got her something too.”

 

She shakes her head, embarrassed for a moment. Across the kitchen Jada, for the first time, looks sheepish. They are both trying not to grin, but there’s laughter in the next room and the first Vera-Vaugh-Greenwood Christmas is finally underway. Maggie’s playing the first track of Mariah Carey Christmas. It’s still cold enough for them to have a fire going in the fireplace.

 

“Come say hi,” Mel says quietly. “Get to know them. They can be kind of lame, and corny, I know, but …”

 

“But what?”

 

She takes Jada’s hand and squeezes gently. “They’re my family, and we – that means you and me – have fought so hard to bring them back. And I don’t just mean Harry,” she says. “This is the first time Maggie’s laughed since she broke up with Parker. And Macy hasn’t slept more than six hours since we got back, but I see her out there sitting next to Harry and I know they’re all going to be okay.

 

Because of what we did.”

 

“Mel, I shouldn’t …”

 

“Jada, it’s Christmas. Please do this for me.”

 

***

  
“JADA MEL OH MY GOD THE MISTELTOE.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> *bows humbly* 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
